


The Oculus of Management

by Koruga, ThunderPhang



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Sharing, Elias isn't really in this but Jonah is and I don't know if those tags are the same yet, Eye Trauma, M/M, Offscreen character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-01-27 10:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21390880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koruga/pseuds/Koruga, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderPhang/pseuds/ThunderPhang
Summary: Martin's right eye hadn't changed. It remained a deep, captivating brown, heavily nearsighted and dulled only slightly by the clouds of the Lonely. It was ringed with red, tearlines still drying on his cheeks. Jon could almost see panic in them, guilt and betrayal and a deep, unending fear. The other side of his face was streaked with blood, spilt from the eye cavity and mimicking the tears on the other side. This eye wasn't Martin's, but it was painfully familiar. The inhuman, almost electric blue that Jon used to associate with Elias Bouchard.--Peter and Elias make a few changes to their wager, and Martin ends up the loser.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Jonah Magnus/Peter Lukas, Martin Blackwood & Jonah Magnus, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 26
Kudos: 88





	1. One Eye Open

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank my editor/cowriter first and foremost. Unfortunately, I can't do that, because she doesn't have an Ao3 account, a Tumblr, or apparently any social media to speak of, so you'll just have to take my word for it when I tell you that my friend Icarus was invaluable in writing this with me, especially with the Jonah lines and actions.

In hindsight, perhaps Martin shouldn't have let go of the knife. Peter had other tools in his trenchcoat, he always kept a few blades close, but if Martin had held onto the thing, he'd have been able to defend himself, stop Peter from getting so close, maybe stop him from even getting to Elias in the first place --

_ One for theatrics, are we Martin? Peter's far more adept at fighting. You couldn't have stopped him, even if you tried. _

Well then, maybe _ that _ wouldn't be in his head. 

Martin sank further onto the ground, his breath coming in short rasps as he held his face in his hands. Half of his vision swam from panic and blood loss, but it was the other half that drew Martin further into fear with every huff he took. He wasn't seeing the stained floor in front of him, or Peter Lukas pushed away and his look of shock. He wasn't seeing the darkness he would have expected, or the view of his left eyeball, rolling to a stop against Jonah Magnus's body. He wasn't seeing at all from his left side. 

He was_ Watching _ from it.

He could _See_ the battle raging upstairs. Daisy tearing at Trevor Herbert's throat, NotSasha (_and_ _fuck, he could remember what Sasha was supposed to look like, he knew exactly what a horrific imitation it was_) ripping through the the library staff, Basira holding the last line of defence as Julia Montauk drew closer. He could _See_ Jon, moving through the tunnels like a trance, towards him and Peter and what was left of Elias Bouchard.

_ Jon. _

Jon was going to be here. He was going to see what Martin was and what he would become, and Peter was coming closer already with another eye in his hand, and half of Martin could hear what he was saying, "...much less painful for you this way. You'll still be in your own body; and it's not like you were using it for anything important. Besides, this way we both win; Jonah gets a new body, and the Institute stays mine. At least, the important parts. You'll still get to do your paperwork, and hire new people to travel these old halls. It'll just be a bit more..._Lonely_."

"No, get _ away from me--_" Martin pushed out in front of him and felt the static in his mouth, the cool taste of fog on a starless night in the endless sea, and he saw and Saw the shocked look on Peter's face as he faded, the final notes of pride.

Two eyes stared blankly at the space in front of him that used to be Peter, and listened to the rush of footsteps that would be coming to see him. Jon would be here in five minutes, to try and save Martin. He was going to speak so gently, as if he alone could bring Martin back from the brink of the Lonely and the Eye. For the first time, Jon _ needed _ Martin, needed him to be okay, needed him to be safe. And Martin simply wasn't.

_ Perfect. _

* * *

  
  


The tunnels beneath the Magnus Institute were rarely kind to those wandering its halls, and even with the Knowledge of where he was trying to go scratching the back of his mind like a subconscious GPS, Jon was exhausted from his wrong turns and the labyrinthine path of his journey when he reached the top of the Panopticon. 

The droplets of blood that had made it to the mossy floor beneath had steeled him for the worst, but at the top of that guard tower he didn't find Martin's corpse, or his limp form sitting on that ancient chair. 

Just the corpse of Elias Bouchard, face down in his own blood, and Martin Blackwood standing straighter and prouder than Jon had ever seen him before. He held a glint of excitement in one eye as Jon slowly approached him, hands neatly folded behind his back. He was _ different_, more alive and animated than Jon had seen him in months, and just the slightest bit wrong in a way that Jon couldn't --

"Ah, Jon. I was almost worried. You found your way alright?"

Jon's heart nearly stopped.

"Elias --" he began, before catching himself. "_Jonah._"

Martin grinned smugly. "_Very _ well done, Jon."

The compliment shivered down Jon's back, making him wince. "_What did you do to Martin?_" Jon snarled out, the static of compulsion thick on his tongue as he drew closer to Martin's body, to _ Jonah_. He knew better than to expect an answer from Jonah, his compulsions even now weren't strong enough to penetrate whatever mental wards Jonah had, but Jon knew he had to anyway, even if he had to watch the obscene way Martin's eyelids fluttered, the gentle bite of Martin's lip.

"You _ are _ improving. I'm impressed," Jonah purred, stepping over his former host and gliding over until he was within arm's reach of the Archivist. "I did nothing to Martin, not personally. Peter was the one who made the final decision; a compromise between the two of us, or so he put it." He hummed his contentment, and looked Jon dead in the eyes, a silent challenge for Jon to look, and to See what had happened.

Martin's right eye hadn't changed. It remained a deep, captivating brown, heavily nearsighted and dulled only slightly by the clouds of the Lonely. It was ringed with red, tearlines still drying on his cheeks. Jon could almost see panic in them, guilt and betrayal and a deep, unending fear. The other side of his face was streaked with blood, spilt from the eye cavity and mimicking the tears on the other side. This eye wasn't Martin's, but it was painfully familiar. The inhuman, almost electric blue that Jon used to associate with Elias Bouchard. 

_ Jonah Magnus. _

Jonah's laughter rang out as Jon's face flashed through the recognition and terror. "You've caught yourself up on what this means, then." He mused aloud, flexing Martin's fingers. "Peter didn't do the best job, I'm afraid, but it will do just _ fine _ for my purposes, and you--"

His voice cut out, like a power line had just been severed, and for the first time Jon had ever seen, Jonah Magnus looked truly _ confused. _

And like that, his demeanour changed. His posture slouched, he reached out to grip Jon by the wrists, and when he spoke again, it wasn't the voice of Jonah. 

It was _ Martin, _ and he was _ scared. _

"He's_ inside of me, _ Jon -- Jonah took my body and he's _ in my head_; he wants me to, to --" Martin's pleading voice devolved into rough sobs and pained laughter, and Jon watched in rapt horror as his friend, his assistant, his _ anchor _ tried to keep himself from slipping under Jonah's spell.

"I…Peter and Jonah had a _ bet,_ and _ I _ lost," Martin gritted out. "I'm still here, I can still, I can move, and talk, and act sometimes, but I don't know how long I'll get to stay, or _ if _ I'll get to stay." He stared at Jon imploringly, the one eye that was still his growing wet with tears, and bit down on the inside of his mouth. "I don't -- I need you to _ help me, _ Jon."

Jon nodded back mutely, trying to find his voice. Martin pushed on in his stead, determined to get every sentence he could out before Jonah took his body back. "You mentioned a way to get out of all of this, to _ quit_." He looked back at the aging Watcher in the centre of the Panopticon, at the knife dropped carelessly at his feet. "I think that's…it's the only way to get him out, but I don't know what will happen to everyone if we do." 

"I don't know if they'll all die, and Jonah doesn't know for certain either, but if I, if it comes down to it, I need you to take it out." Martin's gaze turned back to Jon, looking for an answer, a confirmation that he could do this impossible deed.

"O-of course, I'll do what it takes, but Martin, I need you to breathe. We need to get out of here." Jon placed his hands over Martin's, easing them from their death grip on his shoulders until they were holding each other's hands with eyes only for each other. "We can't go back to the Institute, not right now, but I know where we can hide, where we can wait to figure this out." He squeezed Martin's hands, watching a hint of colour return to Martin's pallid face. "Together."

The idea seemed to soften Martin, and he offered Jon a tired smile. "Together," he repeated reverently, closing the gap between their foreheads until their noses were nearly touching. "…I think I'd like that."

"Unfortunately, I can't oblige." 

Jon jerked at the sudden shift, pulling away to try and escape Jonah's abrupt, steadfast grip. "Martin _ may _ still have some measure of control, but I am still the Head of this Institute, and with Peter's sudden but not _ entirely _ unexpected departure," Jonah rolled his and Martin's eyes, "-- and Elias's tragic and unforeseeable death, Martin's experience leaves him the only viable candidate to succeed the role." 

He pulled Jon closer, pressing to Jon's lips a rough kiss stained with blood and tears, and to Jon's mind, the _ Knowledge _ of how many times Martin had thought about doing just the same seeped through.

Daydreams of happier days neither of them had ever known, unrealised moments when Jon had done something Martin deemed brilliant. The day that Jon had left to stop the Unknowing and Martin almost ran after him before he left so he could read a poem written over a hundred times to confess his love. Jon's stomach twisted as he was fed the knowledge, but he didn't pull away until Jonah was finished and smiling against Jon's mouth.

Martin's hands came away with ease afterwards, allowing Jon to cover his mouth as if he could wipe away the fact of the kiss with enough willpower and spit. Jon heaved, trying to force the images out of his mind.

"You think if you make him suffer enough, he'll stop fighting you," Jon spat, venturing forward, focusing his acid glare on Jonah's sharp stare, "You think that if you're harsh enough, you can get Martin to let you win, don't you?" 

He didn't need Jonah's pleased chuckle as confirmation -- he Knew what Jonah wanted from the kiss alone. "And you want him to do that, you need him to feel like there's no hope, that he has nothing left. But he doesn't." Jon swallowed his worry, steeling himself for what he needed to say. "He has me. I'm going to keep fighting for you, Martin, and I'm not letting _ Jonah Magnus _ win, after everything you've done for me. We are_ not _ letting him _ win_."

Jonah appraised Jon for a few seconds, rolling his shoulders back and straightening his posture once more. "Oh, _ Jon. _ I'm well aware." One of Martin's hands, bloody and stained, drifted to glide a finger across Jon's chin, Jonah's tone brimming with fondness. "And when you fail, it will be all the sweeter for it."

  
  


* * *

The rest of the day was a blur for Martin, variously in control of and trapped inside his own body. Fourteen Institute employees had died while he was down in the tunnels -- three researchers, six from Artefact Storage, four technicians, and Tom Eberle from the library. Daisy had gone missing as well, but Martin Knew she wasn't dead. Rather, she had fled the Institute in a bloody rage after killing the other two hunters, and was stalking through the streets of London now. Basira was going to have to find her, and she was going to have to kill her, but neither Jonah nor Martin were particularly keen on making that happen any time soon.

Jon's determination not to leave Martin alone was, while affirming and full of warmth, somewhat difficult to follow up on. He had his own problems that needed attending to, and Jonah was only too eager to force Jon away with a few statements and a reminder that he needed to check on Basira. So it was that Martin sat alone in the Institute Head's office, staring at the desk in front of him.

"You can come out now, Peter," he grumbled into the empty air, arms crossed like a put-upon mother as Peter dissolved into solidity from static in the corner of the room.

"I told you not to do that," Peter muttered in annoyance, hands stuffed into the pockets of his overcoat.

"I didn't need to Look into the Lonely to know that you were there, Peter. I know you've been following Jon and I since I pushed you in there."

Peter cocked his head slightly. "It's Martin speaking now, then?"

"_Yes_, it's Martin, and I'd really rather you not stalk me like this right now!" Martin snapped back. "I have enough to deal with; Jon's made it his personal mission to figure out how to stop this, Jonah wants me to become the official Head of the Institute instead of just doing the job of it for you, and there are still dead bodies in _ and _ under the building that _ I'm _ going to have to deal with! I don't want to have to stop you from pushing Jonah's other eye into my body right now, so if you'd kindly _ fuck off _ so I can get my bearing for ten seconds, that would be very much appreciated!"

For several seconds, the only noise in the room was Martin's furious heaving as he glared up at the captain on the other side of his desk. Peter stared back with something halfway to surprise, and the beginnings of a glee that only made Martin's blood boil more. He grit his teeth, ready to tell Peter to get the _ hell _out once more and found that he couldn't. 

His body jolted to a stop once again, and Martin could feel Jonah carelessly pushing him aside to take the wheel of his body.

"What I believe I'm trying to say is that the Institute no longer requires you to act as its Interim head. Over the past few months, Martin Blackwood has proven himself to be an admirable administrator, and when Elias Bouchard is found dead, it's only right that control over the Magnus Institute be transferred to him," Jonah explained as he puppeteered Martin up, walking around the desk to grab a key from Peter's pocket. Their fingers brushed together for the quickest of moments before Jonah pulled the tarnished silver key out and moved to a filing cabinet by the window. 

Martin could hardly find it in himself to be surprised when he saw the well-organised wills and documents of ownership in there, a folder designated for each of the previous Archive heads. Jonah plucked out the least dulled one, dutifully labelled _ Bouchard_, and plucked a pen from atop the cabinet before gliding back to the desk.

"It may be harder to convincingly bequeath Martin with all of Elias's worldly possessions, but you can care for most of them in the interim." Jonah's eye glittered as he winked at Peter, notarising and editing the documents he had set out years ago for his eventual replacement. "Martin _ does _ need to move up in the world, but the last thing I want is to draw suspicion to myself right now."

"Does this mean you _ don't _ want me to put your eye back in?" Peter asked haltingly, pulling a small mason jar filled with saline and a single eye from his other pocket. The sight made Martin want to throw up, but instead he merely raised a single brow.

"As much as that would make things easier? No. You still haven't fulfilled your end of the bargain, and Jon won't be nearly as keen to walk through fire for Martin if none of him remains." He looked back down at the paper, curling script writing Peter in as his executor and primary beneficiary. "And although you did partially win the wager, I can't give you full control over the Institute. But -- Martin _ has _ been sufficiently ensconced in the Lonely. He should work wonderfully as a compromise." He could feel Peter's wry smile before it happened, and Martin was treated all at once to the Knowledge of just how well and how long these two had known each other.

The sudden rush was enough for Martin to break the nib of the fountain pen against Jonah's will, earning a startled grunt from the man still in control of the body. "While there are still certainly _ issues _ with the current arrangement, as it stands, both Beholding and Forsaken are being wonderfully sated with this body."

  
Peter seemed to consider Jonah's explanation for a few seconds, and Martin could See the wheels turning in his brain as he slowly began to understand just how much he stood to gain from the current situation. "If you say so, Elias," Peter finally chirped, sticking the jar back into his pocket. "Or should I call you Martin now? Or Jonah?"

"Martin in public. When we're alone, you may call me Jonah. Elias simply isn't accurate anymore, given recent events." With a swift stroke, Jonah signed Elias's name on the page, and perfectly imitated the spidery signature of _ Martin Blackwood _ next to it. 

"If you say so. I think I'll make myself scarce for a bit -- the police are bound to show up to this one, and I'd rather not explain why there are nearly twenty dead bodies lying around the building under my watch. The two of you are much better at this than I am, so I'll leave you to it." Peter gave a final, empty smile, and began to slowly fade into the fog.

"Ah, wait, Peter?" Jonah looked up from his paperwork, stilling Peter's ensconcement. "I'll be taking my eye, if you don't mind. For safekeeping."

"Mmm, I'd rather not. I've got to have some leverage in this arrangement, after all."

_ "Peter --" _

And with a merry, mildly menacing wink, Peter was truly Gone.

Martin's face twisted with Jonah's agitation, not making any attempt to disguise his frustration. There would be no hope in chasing after him now that he was in the Lonely, which left Jonah reclining back in his seat with a disgruntled huff.

Trapped inside his own head, Martin pounded against his kidnapper's consciousness, and Jonah Magnus picked up the pen and begrudgingly continued to write Peter and Martin into Elias's will.


	2. Shaking Out The Cobwebs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin tries to go home, and runs into a few hurdles on the way. Jonah deals with the usual problems of a new host.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm thrilled to announce that my amazing and incredible editor and cowriter now has an account so I can give her credit! ThunderPhang is absolutely essential to this fic and I'm excited that I can properly give her credit now.
> 
> Also, less cool, but I'm also going to have to thank my mother for this. She lived in London for several years and her knowledge on the city was and will continue to be invaluable. Technically I also lived in London but I was two so I really can't use my experiences to enhance the experience.
> 
> Anyway I hope you enjoy this sudden and dramatic shift from bodysnatcher horror plot to a forced roommates situation. I sure did.

Home was rarely a welcome respite for Martin. He'd liked his little Stockwell flat just fine before the Prentiss incident, but the claustrophobia, stains, and general trauma of the incident had soured Martin on his time there. He'd taken to staying at the old cot in the Archives for a long time, even after the threat had left, and as much as he'd have loved to look for a new place, leave the whole thing behind him, he could never actually…go through with it. The thought of explaining to his landlord why he needed to terminate his lease, and then explaining how _ nobody in the building _ heard the two weeks, was enough to put Martin off trying. These days, he'd just used it for storage.

That was before Peter had taken Martin under his wing. Once the Lonely enveloped him, smoothing over his emotions like a river to its stones, it had been easier to walk into the flat and not be consumed by panic. It had been easier to do a lot of things, with the Lonely -- Martin hadn't been afraid of disappointing people the way he used to. Plenty of long nights were still spent sleeping in the Institute, but it was inside the office he still thought of as _ Elias's _ rather than down in the Archives where he'd have to confront his fellow victims.

There was no way that he was doing that now, though. In the seat of Jonah's power, falling asleep within the Institute would be tantamount to a suicide of personality, no matter how sweetly his parasite whispered about sharing the power. As ten o'clock rolled around, Martin swept the exhaustion from his eyes, walked down to the station, and rode the line down to Stockwell.

When Martin opened the door, he was hit by the cool air in his apartment. He didn't have much use for paying the heating bill when he stayed as little as possible, let alone the fact that his temperature ran a few degrees cold thanks to Peter. He let his head look around the apartment, Jonah taking control for a few moments before he let Martin close the door.

_ This is where you live? I've never had the pleasure of seeing it personally. _

"No need to sound so overwhelmed. Not all of us have a six digit salary and the collected inheritance of five separate families; I'm perfectly happy with what I've got here, thank you very much." Martin slumped over to his bedroom to collapse on his bed, eyes already shut before he hit the mattress.

They were still closed when his body immediately stood back up against his will.

_ You're not staying here. _

"Uh, yeah I am. I own this flat, and I'm not about to ask Jon if I can live with him because it doesn't live up to your standards, so -- shut up and get used to it."

_ No. _ Martin bit down on his own tongue, shutting him up so Jonah could continue talking unimpeded. _ You may think that you're proving a point to me by staying here, or that you're weakening my influence in this establishment. However, you've had constant panic attacks coming here for months, and they _ will _ begin again if you insist on being stubborn. _

"Really?" Martin asked, massaging his jaw. "You know, I'd thought maybe with a passenger in my brain you could stop those. Maybe, I don't know, do one halfway decent thing for me?"

_ I'm afraid that's not how this works. I'm not a puppeteer. _

Martin's wallet, phone, and house keys were fished out of his bag and plopped into his jacket. "Could've fooled me."

"If you're _ finished._" Jonah straightened out Martin's posture and started down the stairs again. "We don't have much time until the station closes, and I don't think either of us wants to have to walk."

_ Walk where? You haven't told me where you're taking us! _

Jonah shook his head and tutted. "This partnership is a two-way street, Martin. I'm sure you'll be able to See where we're going if you apply some conscious effort."

* * *

By the time they arrived at the station, the tube had closed for the night, and the frustration did not help Martin See where they were going. As much as he tried (and oh, did he try) Jonah's mind was still too labyrinthine for Martin to yet navigate, and he had to wait until Jonah hailed them a cab and gave the man an address to learn they were heading over to Kensington, to a nice townhouse overlooking Holland Park.

Martin had to admit, the place did look absolutely lovely. A faint drizzle began as Jonah walked up to the door and pulled the handle. He cursed, pulling off Martin's glasses to rub at his temples.

_ Forgot your keys? _

"I know exactly where the keys to my apartment are," Jonah spat into the empty air, leaning one hand against the door. "They're in my pocket."

_ You're sure about that? Because my pockets feel pretty empty to me. _

"_Elias's _ pocket," he clarified frustratedly. "I picked up my belongings from police custody before arriving at the Institute."

_ Which means that we're locked out, _ Martin provided helpfully.

"Not _ exactly_." Jonah sighed, and cleared his throat as the misty night began to close in around them. "Peter also has a key."

"So I do," came the cheerful voice to Martin's side, and Jonah wearily closed his eyes. "Not that I need to use it much, but it doesn't hurt to keep your home well guarded. Who knows what sort of rough characters could attempt to barge in?"

"The key, Peter," Jonah commanded, holding out a hand.

"Mmm, I'd rather not."

"Peter, _ if you would please --_"

"Come on, Jonah, you can't just give your home to any poor vagabond off the streets. You'll be bringing down property value." 

Jonah scoffed. "I fail to see how I'll be bringing down the value of _ anything _ by coming inside. Dr. and Mr. Gumpright aren't at all _ observant_, and Ms. Solokova will be out until the early morning."

"_And_, _ I'm _ not a poor vagabond! I might not be _ Mayfair Material,_ but I don't think I'm going to be hunted down because I was allowed into someone's home!" Martin fumed, waving away Jonah's bodily control with wide flaps of his hands. "It's almost midnight, _ Peter,_ it's starting to _ rain_, I'm _ cold_, and I _ really _ just want to _ sleep._" 

Of course, Peter was only too willing to deprive Martin of sleep for some stupid flight of fancy back when Martin was his assistant, on hunts for Extinction evidence or just to get them some coffee from Costa while talking to the bare minimum of people on the way. Actually getting anything out of Peter would be nothing short of a miracle.

Martin certainly wasn't going to be having an easy time tonight, judging by Peter's smug little smile and the way he leaned back against the trim pillar. "I've grown used to sleeping in there alone. It's a nice bit of a role reversal, I think. That must count for something between our two gods, doesn't it?" Peter spoke aloud to the rain.

"No, it doesn't, and I -- wait, have you been staying in Elias's house?"

"Oh, yes."

"How long?"

Peter frowned thoughtfully and began running a hand through his beard. "Well, a few days before you got Elias arrested, he invited me to come get my bearing about the place, so I'd be ready when you deposed him to take over. I was living in between here and the _ Tundra _ for a few months after that, but a few months ago Nathaniel decided he needed to use her for some official business." He shrugged, and put his hands back in his pockets. "It wasn't difficult to adjust; Jonah had the building before I'd even met him, and I've dropped by plenty of times."

As if Martin had ever wanted to know any of that. He hadn't wanted to know about the strange and legally questionable relationship between Peter and Jonah back when he was simply working as Peter's assistant, and he absolutely didn't want to be privy to even more knowledge now that he was sharing a body with one of the two men.

Oh god, what was the body situation going to do about their relationship? No timeshare was going to fix the fact that if Peter was going to court Jonah again, it would be in Martin's body, and Martin would eventually have to deal with being personally courted by Peter Lukas. 

And what if he actually had the courage to do anything with Jon? Was Jonah going to sabotage that for him? Would he try to seduce Jon instead? He was going to have to stay isolated even now, keep himself away from Jon so Jonah didn't get to him.

_ Now, now -- don't lie to yourself, Martin. We both know that you're not going to leave Jon. As much as it would thrill Peter if you did, you love Jon more than you fear me. _

"Didn't need the colour commentary," Martin muttered, before sizing up Peter beside him. He had taken the keys out of his pocket, and was spinning them around on a single finger, perfect arcs and circles as he waited for Martin to stop arguing with himself. He hadn't a care in the world, no worry as to how long this would take. Always one step removed, always thinking he was better than the two of them because he simply didn't care.

Insufferable.

_ Insufferable. _

Martin's hand shot out to grab Peter's, wringing the keychain and its single key from his index finger and shoving it into the lock. He flung the door open, stormed inside and slammed it shut, where he collapsed onto the ground in front of the door. "I am getting tired of the two of you doing everything in your power to ruin my life," Martin spoke curtly, loud enough for Peter to hear him on the other side of the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've had a _ really _ long day, and I deserve to get at least a few hours of rest before tomorrow morning." He slowly brought himself up off the ground and turned to relock the door.

Predictably, his hands froze in place before he could get there. "_Jonah --_"

"Peter, won't you come inside?" Martin watched himself step away from the door to allow Peter to open it from the outside. "It's awfully cold out, even for you, and I'm sure you need the rest as well."

Jonah's smile grew on Martin's face as Peter slipped in, still slightly put out from the altercation outside. "You weren't so grabby before this," he muttered petulantly, hands back in his pockets.

"I believe your time as Martin's superior emboldened him to take greater risks. Very convenient for the both of us." He took Peter by the hand and led him up the stairs, ignoring Peter's halfhearted attempts at denying the grasp. "Now, I believe Martin wanted to sleep, and I won't deny him that. We should all take the time to rest."

_ No! I'm not sleeping in the same bed as Peter Lukas -- wait, does he even sleep? I always sort of assumed he just- went off into the Lonely to recharge or something. _

_ He's perfectly capable of resting just like everyone else. Nothing untowards is going to happen, I assure you. Not when you retain partial control. _

_ That really doesn't fill me with confidence. _

"Talking to yourself again?" Peter asked airily, no longer even trying to protest as Jonah led him into the master bedroom. The bed was unmade, most of the pillows and blankets pushed off to the side in an undignified pile. Two piles of what Martin assumed to be Peter's spare clothes were folded neatly on a plush chair near Elias's oaken dresser, and a few empty bowls were stacked on the desk near the window. Those were the only ways of knowing that anybody had been sleeping in here, the scant signs of life that Peter could produce.

As the door closed, Martin's hands finally let Peter go, and Jonah maneuvered to the far side of the bed to pick up the discarded pillows. "You could have slept in the guest room when I'm gone," he noted in a deadpan, arranging the pillows to how they had once been. "I keep it in good enough condition for you, and you wouldn't have to toss aside most of the bed to be comfortable." Peter had even pushed the duvet off, both members of the body noted with some annoyance as it was pulled back onto the bed.

Peter merely shrugged, sitting on the desk's swivel chair to watch Martin work. "I like your room better. It's larger, lonelier, more lavish than your guest room."

"I'm glad you like it. Because you're going to keep sleeping in here until you decide to leave."

"You're not serious."

"Oh, I'm _ quite _serious. If you insist on staying in my home, then I'd like something in return. All I ask for is a little company, Peter." Jonah bared Martin's teeth in a sweetly dangerous smile. "That won't kill you, will it?"

"Your employees are right about you. You really are a horrible person, Jonah."

"Don't act so coy. You wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

Two bodies sharing a body apparently went to sleep at the same time, and one waking up woke the other as well. Martin felt Jonah stir in his brain as he fumbled to put on his glasses, one eye searching throughout the house to find Peter instead -- nowhere to be found, as usual. Martin yawned and trudged downstairs, into the ridiculously lavish kitchen to fix himself a meal.

_ Are you going to keep wearing your clothes from yesterday? _

"Good to see you're up as well, Jonah," Martin deadpanned, filling up the kettle with water. "You didn't give me much chance to pack up my clothes when you kidnapped me to come here, so yeah, I think I'm going to keep wearing my clothes. Not like any of yours are going to fit me."

_ You're a professional now, Martin. Your sweaters and trousers were barely adequate for your previous job, and you are now the beating heart of my Institute. You'll need to keep up your appearance. _ Our _ appearance. _

"That sounds more like your problem than it does mine!" Martin protested. Elias's tea selection was horrible. Nothing but oolong, and it looked like it had been sitting there for months, open and unused. "I really don't care how I'm going to look as the Head of the Institute. I'm not going to be doing much with the position anyway."

_ I'm afraid you won't have much of a choice in the matter. _

"I still have partial control. You can't force me to do all your work!"

"No, but I can make you do part of it. We're changing your wardrobe, Martin." The kettle was pulled off the stove and Martin was piloted to what looked to be Jonah's safe. "Until Elias's will is executed, we will have to stay relatively subtle, but I do have a friend that can assist us in some of our needs. The rest of it will have to be done at a later date."

Martin didn't reply, stunned at the treasure hidden in Jonah's little safe. A journal that looked to be from the eighteenth century was nestled next to a fist-sized sapphire carved into the shape of an eye, several engagement rings looped around a classic fountain pen next to a pile of passports, and what had to be at least a few thousand pounds in cash was piled up neatly near the back. Jonah ignored all but the cash, plucking out one of the stacks and filing the money into a leather wallet resting on top of the safe. "I'd advise you to get used to the sight of wealth, Martin," he mused quietly. "If this arrangement continues, you'll be dealing with quite a lot of it."

_ That's not…that's not the problem, here. You just keep all of that like it's not worth more than my entire life, and I'm pretty sure that sapphire is supernatural. _

_ Oh, it is, very much so, _ Jonah replied amiably, bringing him away from the kitchen to pick up the keys that were left by the counter. He stepped outside, locking the door behind him before hailing a cab to take them over to Mayfair. _ Its creators called it Samyaza's Oculus; I used it to See more clearly before my first attempt at the Watcher's Crown. It's a bit too useful for me to let it languish away in Artefact Storage._

_ You really think it's safer in your house? I don't see much of an alarm system on it. _

_ Believe me, my security is quite effective. And do be quiet, I'd rather you not embarrass the both of us while we're out. _

Martin fidgeted in the back of the cab, but ultimately kept his mouth shut as they drove past Hyde Park and into Mayfair. They stopped at Savile Row, and Martin hurriedly made sure to leave a tip before he was forced out of the car to walk into the highest-class store he had stepped foot in in his life.

_ Cad and the Dandy_, the sign proclaimed, and Martin distantly tried to recall where he'd heard the name before. Never kept too much up to date on the probably fascinating world of bespoke tailors, but something about the name rang about in his head as Jonah began to browse the fabrics on display.

"Ehm. Can I help you?" Martin turned in confusion at the voice behind him, a nervous-looking young man carrying a skein of fabric.

Martin's body shifted to a straighter back, clasping his hands together as the very image of respectability. "Yes, I believe you can. I'd like to speak with James Sleater if he's in -- if you could tell him that Jonah would like a word with him?"

"I can't just walk upstairs and ask him, we've just opened and he's very busy --"

"Lawrence, is it?" Jonah skimmed through the young man's memories, parsing which would be most helpful. "I realise you must be new to your internship here, but James and I have a very personal relationship, and I don't think he would be happy to know that you're wasting both my time and his own."

Lawrence paled a bit at the thought, and nodded. "Right, I…one moment." He hurried into the back, and Martin watched him through the glass dividers as he scurried about like a half-crushed ant looking for salvation, rushing up the stairs. There was a stagnant pause of waiting in silence, Jonah's attention drifting across the displays. It wasn't long before Lawrence returned, coming down with another, somewhat older man with a receding hairline.

"Hello, James," Jonah said smoothly, offering a hand to shake. "I apologise for coming in on such short notice, but I'm afraid I ran into a few problems earlier this week. I'll need to be measured for a new fitting."

The man Lawrence had brought in (James Sleater, Martin supposed) looked a bit taken aback for a few seconds, but he quickly composed himself. Something seemed to shift in his breast pocket as he took Martin's hand. "Right, it certainly seems so! I'll take you to a fitting room, we need to catch up." James led Martin over to a small room, waving Lawrence off easily as he shut the door.

"You didn't say you were getting a new body."

Martin started at the suddenness of the statement, how easily it was spoken. Of course, Jonah still seemed unperturbed, even as a small spider climbed its way out of James's pocket and onto his shoulder.

"I wasn't planning to make a switch so soon. But Peter and I had something of a wager on the previous inhabitant of this body, and we came to a compromise with this." He gestured down at himself, wincing a bit as Martin took control back over the body with a realisation.

"You're the ones who made the suit. Eric Lewis, he made a statement, a banker who lost control of his body when he put on one of your suits!" Martin pulled back several steps, pointing at James accusingly. "You're another Avatar, aren't you?"

James lifted up his hands in platitude. "Of the Web, you're right. And if I've got my names right, you're Martin Blackwood? So good to finally meet you."

"He's told you about me? When did he tell you about me?"

"Oh, no, Jonah didn't say anything to me specifically." James pointed at the spider on his shoulder. "I learned more indirectly. I don't think any of us were expecting to meet you like this, though. The spiders always hoped you might be swayed by our side."

"That's _ quite enough,_" Jonah snapped. "I've asked the Mother of Puppets not to go fawning after my employees, and my migration to this body was not so neatly planned as the previous have been. I would have made an appointment already if I had known, but Martin _ does _ need appropriate apparel now that I have partial control of him." He exhaled a deep sigh. "I'm sure you'll piece together the full story soon, so there's no need for me to explain. For now, I'd just prefer for you to take Martin's measurements, considering he's never seen fit to get it done himself."

_ Sorry that I didn't plan for your body snatching. _

_ Any respectable man should own at least one properly tailored suit. Stop interfering. _

_ You could have told me that your 'friend' was another Avatar, and I would have had more time to prepare. You've dropped a lot of information on me very quickly, and we haven't even had breakfast yet. _

_ You'll live, don't be so overdramatic. _

I'm_ the overdramatic one? _

As Martin and Jonah argued in their head, Sleater measured their body, weaving around Martin like a needle pushing through linen to take every last inch of the body into account. It took a few snaps once he was done to command Jonah's attention again, several more spiders now congregated across him. "I can get your second fitting in by next Wednesday," he chirped, rolling up the measuring tape.

"You can't get it done any earlier?"

"Perfection takes work, Jonah. We need to weave the fabric, cut it, sew it, press it, it's not a simple process of tailoring something already made. It takes time, and I assure you that this is far quicker than any of our other clients." He smiled at Jonah's mismatched eyes, storing the roll of tape and a few spiders in his pocket. "Which is going to cost you slightly more than usual. A thousand pounds up front, and another thousand when you come to collect the finished product."

"That's quite steep."

"You can afford it. Besides, by the time the suit is finished, you'll have access to your full account, won't you?"

Jonah quirked a brow. "I've asked you to stop sneaking your webs into my house."

"We don't need to. It's only common sense."

Still muttering a bit, Jonah pulled out his wallet from Martin's pocket and began counting out the bills. Ten crisp hundred pound notes, placed into Sleater's waiting palm. "And you'll call when you've finished? My number hasn't changed."

"The minute it's done, of course. Now come on, you've got a lot of ground to cover if you want Martin here to look as sharp as you're used to." James opened the door back up and the spiders retreated. "You haven't even found the right shoes yet. Take care, you two!"

Martin slowly walked out the door, feeling awfully like he had been shooed out of a house rather than simply having walked out of a store. Outside, the taxi he had taken to get there was still waiting, and the driver waved him over to come back in. "Where to now, sir?" the driver asked cheerfully, looking expectantly at Martin.

_ Jonah? _ Martin asked nervously. _ What's going on? _

_ One moment, he's quite easily distracted. _

_ Wait, you're not reading his mind, are you? I just wanted to see if you knew, not -- _

_ You tipped him with a hundred pounds. Mikhail here is rather thrilled to take you anywhere, it seems. _

Right. He…was rich now, and apparently Jonah didn't carry around small bills. Martin took a deep breath and looked at Mikhail the cab driver through the rearview mirror. The silence had grown awkward by now. "Well, do you…know any good places for breakfast?" he asked awkwardly, and with a delighted nod, Mikhail began to pull away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James Sleater is a real person, one of the founders of Cad and the Dandy, which technically makes this an RPF now. I don't know how to feel about that, but technically The Magnus Archives is also RPF since it contains Robert Smirke.


End file.
